Night fell over the coast, bringing a cool, ocean breeze. At 8:00 PM, Marcus and his assistant were guided by a waiter to a private, beautifully lit outdoor table overlooking the water, completely secluded from the main restaurant. They were smiling, clinking expensive glasses of white wine, celebrating their perfect getaway.
Suddenly, the resort’s live acoustic performer stepped up to the microphone near the pavilion. He struck a chord on his guitar and began singing a very specific, quirky indie track by a French-Polynesian artist that Marcus and Clara had discovered on their backpacking honeymoon. Marcus froze mid-sip. Nobody played this song. It wasn’t on any radio station.
Before he could process the strange coincidence, a large, automated projector screen began lowering slowly from the pavilion ceiling directly in front of their table. The assistant smiled widely, clapping her hands. “Oh my gosh, Marcus, did you arrange a romantic slideshow for us? You are too sweet!” Marcus looked utterly bewildered, but his narcissistic pride assumed the hotel was providing elite, complimentary service.